Stranger Than Fiction
1. London, September
2000.
Nicky paced the room,
restlessly switching TV channels. The gangland battle was of course headline
news. One camera crew had managed to get a shot of a stray dog lifting its leg
over a partially naked body, as it lay riddled with bullets in a muddy
puddle.
He went into the kitchen, fidgeted around in the half-empty fridge
before returning empty-handed to the lounge, unable to settle down to
anything.
Carol? Vandana? Vandana? Carol?
Nicky MacIntyre glanced
round the self-service restaurant at New Scotland Yard and saw no one he
recognised. This was not surprising, as it was only his third day in Special
Investigations after his transfer from Forensic Liaison. He sat down a couple of
seats away from a small group of male officers, one of whom looked up and nodded
an acknowledgement. His thoughts drifted. He had expected some off the wall
stuff to come his way but this first case was so weird he suspected a practical
joke. Something in the hubbub of conversation caught his attention.
�Aw,
come on!" "What d'ya take us for?" "He's just winding you all up!" "Next you'll
be telling us a Muffled Titter ran round the courtroom.�
�I kid you not! They
were at least as big as �,� the plain-clothes detective gestured with his hands,
tracing beach ball sized globes in the air in front of him.
�How could she
hide them under a suit? She's flat as the proverbial pancake.�
�Must have
been some kind of joke outfit, surely?�
�They looked real enough to me. Very
tasty! And you should have seen the way she was feeling them up, flirting with
the judge and giving the eye to the jury.�
An imposing, grey-headed
uniformed figure approached, laying one hand on the plain-clothes man's
shoulder. �In my office, 15 minutes. I can assure you, gentlemen, this is no
laughing matter. Because of DI Price's antics, the entire Gallagher case has
collapsed. Not only have we been made to look extremely foolish but we've lost
the chance, probably our only chance, to break one of the most ruthless and
cynical gangs currently operating in Europe.�
As he walked away, the group
fell uncomfortably silent, till Nicky interrupted their thoughts. �Sorry, I
couldn't help overhearing. Surely that wasn't Carol Price you've been talking
about?�
�One and the same. Detective Inspector Carol Price," There was a
trace of bitterness in his voice. "Former Detective Inspector, I think
we'll find.�
Carol Price took a last look in the mirror before returning
to the waiting room. Skirt-length? Conservative but not dowdy. One inch heels,
plain dark tights. Hair? Short, dark with every wave set in its allotted place.
The secret was to look feminine but asexual. Make up? A light touch of eye
shadow and mascara - can't have that old fart of a judge writing me off as a
dyke - and a delicate shade of lipstick - not too much or the jury will think
I'm a tart. At times this balancing act seemed so impossibly oppressive. Suit
cut to show but not exaggerate the curve of the waist and hips. Bust firmly
controlled under a plain white bra. Strictly speaking this last was unnecessary
but she felt easier if Jezebel and Delilah, her unruly nipples, were kept under
a tight rein.
Carol's thoughts turned to her evidence. In the course of
the next few days she would give the testimony that would send Barry Gallagher
to prison and set in motion a chain of events that should culminate in the
routing of the Gallagher/van den Horst syndicate. So much of what she knew about
Gallagher was inadmissible; his personal depravity, his cruelty, the buzz he
seemed to get from humiliating his subordinates and victims. But Operation
Wallowinit, her team's patient surveillance work had been very productive. Jenny
Bridges spell undercover as a topless hostess in the club, which he used as his
London base, had been crucial. Thanks to Gallagher's arrogant complacency, she
had produced vital forensic evidence linking Gallagher directly to the
kidnapping, torture and murder of a rival gang leader. The facts were at her
fingertips and she was raring to go.
As she raised her hand to give her oath,
a flash of light from the public gallery caught her eye. "I swear to tell the
truth � " A gold tooth glinted in the light. The owner was an olive skinned man
in his early thirties with a striking streak of white hair. " � the whole truth
� " His eyes held Carol's prisoner as his lips shifted into a predatory smile. A
lovely woozy feeling circled her heart. She gasped as he slid the middle finger
of his right hand suggestively into the circle of his left and thrust it up and
down several times. " � and nothing but the � " A strange tingling erupted in
her nipples and raced like wildfire through her body. " � the truth. So � so ...
help me God!"
Her body was suddenly out of control. And eager to please; to
please the frowning ranks of the jury, to please the stern unsmiling judge, even
to please the devious defence Queen's Counsel. And try as she might, there was
nothing she could do about it.
Nicky Macintyre clung onto his overhead
strap as the jam-packed tube train rocketed round another bend, squashing the
young black woman against him. He half turned to escape the constant grinding of
his neighbour's ample buttocks and found himself confronted by a deep rolling
cleavage. Its owner looked down pointedly and flashed an impudent grin. He
smiled apologetically at her and pretended to study the schematic map of the
Underground above the window. Carol Price. Yes, Carol Price. Memories of
unrequited love, timidity and opportunities squandered. All afternoon he had
been haunted by thoughts of Carol with huge breasts. Odd that, because he had
always been more interested in bottoms and buttocks. Is she wearing a thong? Or
not? That was more his usual style. But now suddenly it was all breasts. Bouncy
natural breasts, unreal implanted breasts, droopy breasts with long pink teats,
thrusting breasts with pert dark nips; all parading feverishly through his
brain. Oh how he longed for a cold shower!
The afternoon had not been
completely wasted though. A trawl through the Special Investigations database
had been highly productive, in spite of an initial false start when he had been
ticked off stiffly by Rosie O'Shea, the unit's archivist. "We never call
them the X-files, love, whatever you might have heard in the canteen." An appeal
to Rosie's maternal spirit, combined with a promise of a chocolate �clair with
their afternoon tea, had worked the miracle and she had introduced Nicky to the
system with the enthusiasm of a labour of love.
"Ok love, let's try
Inappropriate behaviour > Sexual/erotic > With organ
inflation
for starters," she suggested. " Oh and click on
Sort by gender." Surprisingly, this immediately came up with
You have 4 hits: Female 2, Male 1, Mixed Group 1
On
further interrogation, the database revealed that three of the recent incidents
involved unexplained, inappropriate sexual behaviour and temporary inflation of
the breasts while the fourth concerned a well-known and much maligned football
referee. The first of the breast expansion incidents involved a vaguely familiar
opera singer whose chest measurement had apparently doubled on a high C during a
live performance of Die Valkyrie. The second victim was that achingly cute
newsreader who had apparently broken down on live TV. Her recent unexplained
absence from the screens had prompted Nicky, and several hundred other male
fans, to e-mail Channel 4 in protest. The third incident involved a bishop and
three nuns trapped in a lift. All three incidents had been hushed up remarkably
effectively. Only the bishop's heart attack and subsequent admission to hospital
had aroused some fleeting media interest. The ill-starred (male) referee had
been less fortunate and it looked too, as though Carol was going to share his
fate. Barry Gallagher was a high-profile figure and, as she fled the courtroom
in tears, Carol had been photographed by several quick-witted cameramen and
briefly by one of the TV stations.
In any case, Nicky had seen enough of a
pattern to persuade his boss that they would have to take an interest in the
case. It had taken a few phone calls and some cajoling and down right bullying,
but by the time he left his office Nicky had arranged to have all the relevant
reports on his desk by noon the next day.
The train emptied at Earl's Court
station and Nicky grabbed a seat before the fresh throng boarded the train. The
cleavage sat down opposite and started to fan herself slowly with her
Cosmopolitan. "Thirteen new ways to prolong your orgasm," promised the cover
page. A newcomer sat down next to her and turned his evening paper to the back
page. "Top Cop's Moment of Shame!" screamed the front page above a half page
picture of Carol as she ran from the court, clutching the biggest pair of
breasts Nicky had ever seen.
The little bird soared high above the twin
peaks before plunging down through that magnificent valley, looping and twirling
round, showing off his glorious plumage before landing expertly on the back of
Carol's hand. She smiled proudly at his antics and brought him up to her left
nipple, which he kissed fervently. Using his claws to balance on the nipple,
Nicky spread his wings then hopped over to the other tit. She squealed as his
claws gripped then smiled again. He spread his wings further, still further, and
again till they circled her waist miraculously in a feathered garland. Now he
was a squirrel, flicking his tail across her pubic hair, tickling her inner
thighs as they slowly parted. She giggled then picked him up and placed him
between her breasts. Gently squeezing them together, she started to massage his
entire body with them. Her scent was overpowering. The exhilaration of being
smothered in that vast cleavage washed over him. Every nerve, every sense was
being stimulated beyond endurance. He felt he must burst with pleasure!
And
burst he did, only to wake up in dark and dampness. It had been almost eighteen
years since Nicky's last wet dream and the embarrassment of it all came flooding
back. "What were you doing eating yoghurt in bed anyway?" his mother had
demanded, while his two elder sisters smirked and giggled and generally
conspired to maximise his discomfort.
At about the same time, Carol was
waking up in a sweat for the fourth time that night. The recurring nightmares
seemed to be getting worse. The torrent of cackling laughter turned suddenly to
icy quiet as she entered the room. Rivals, she sensed, slowly and effortlessly
turned to stare. And faceless friends turned away. Another faceless one,
uniformed and somehow sinister, showing her the street with studied
indifference. Only as the crowds swallowed her was she aware of her nakedness.
The torrent of cackling laughter turned suddenly to icy quiet �
Carol
towelled the perspiration off and went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk.
Most of Landon's things were still in their flat. The self-serving coward would
no doubt be back to collect them when things calmed down. Looking back, Landon
had been a mistake. Handsome, self-assured and ambitious, he had seemed the
perfect partner but as time and promotions took their toll their affection had
waned. He had his plusses of course. He was a great trophy partner for parties
and the like and without his fat City salary, living in central London would
have been impossible. (It suddenly dawned on Carol that she would soon be forced
to move.) Also he was a well-schooled and very competitive lover. What he lacked
in spontaneity, he more than compensated for in technique. A definite plus, she
sighed, even if recently she had more often than not faked it, to protect his
brittle ego.
Walking casually over to her side of the bed, Carol rummaged
through a drawer till she found her favourite vibrator. She sat down on the bed
and spread her legs languidly then let out a stream of curses. The batteries
were flat. She looked out of the window. Two storeys down a cluster of
photographers and reporters hung around outside the door; some beneath a street
lamp looked up. Their cars half blocked the street. Suddenly a blinding flash
shocked her to the core, a movement at the window, a glimpse of a leering grin.
Carol sprang forward to open the window just in time to see the man scuttling
down the drainpipe, camera slung round his neck. The bastards had photographed
her in her own bedroom. Just occasionally you thank God for flat
batteries.
A Tahiti Blue MGF shot at 95mph across three lanes
of the M6 and slipped between two HGV's into the turnoff for the Keele Services.
Decelerating fiercely round a couple of tight bends, the driver swung the sports
car into an empty bay with studied precision. "Nine and a half out of
ten!"
This early morning breakfast break was part of a little ritual, a
temporary farewell to Vandana's own world of proteins, hormones and brain
chemistry while she adjusted mentally to the world of her family back in
Manchester. Since her reconciliation with her parents six months back, she had
not missed a single one of these regular monthly get-togethers. After the
prodigal daughter had paid due homage to her mother, father and grandparents,
she would take her niece and nephews to Old Trafford to watch Manchester United.
They would shout, chant and sing themselves hoarse, she would lust secretly
after David Beckham's buttocks and their team would certainly stuff the pampered
poseurs of Chelsea. Then she would treat them to something deliciously
unhealthy, usually burgers and ice cream. She would try, mainly because she
enjoyed a good argument, to persuade them that there is more to this universe
than lawyers or accountants can possibly imagine and then back home to the
feast.
No doubt her mother would have lined up some hopeless marriage
prospect for her notorious offspring. Vandana had seen off several of these by
the simple device of leading them outside and seducing them energetically behind
the garden shed. And then the most enjoyable part of the evening, mental
gymnastics with her paternal grandfather who, at seventy-five, was still the
sharpest man she knew.
Taking a window seat, she turned to the newspaper she
had picked up with her coffee and croissant. Not her usual, she had noticed the
full front-page photo of that unfortunate police inspector, a humiliating snap
of a dishevelled woman, just woken from sleep with the shoulder strap of her
baby doll half off her shoulder. It was of course printed "in the public
interest." For most people the talking point was the contrast between the petite
breasts which hid behind the nighty and the huge cantaloupes they had seen
published just a couple of days previously. For Vandana though, it was Carol's
haunted eyes. She stared at the picture, pale knuckles locked tight round the
handle of her cup, till her coffee was cold. Then she made her decision and
reached for her mobile.
"This is Professor Vandana Patel speaking. You don't
know me, Mr MacIntyre, but I can help you with the Carol Price investigation.
I'll call at your office at 10am on Monday. Be there."
Not all of
Carol's friends had abandoned her, which was just as well as, trapped in her
beleaguered flat, she was rapidly running out of food.
"How can you bear to
watch the tele?" asked Jenny, after describing one particularly offensive joke
on 'Have I Got News for You'.�
"I can't," shrugged Carol.
"It's the
serious stuff that really gets me," Ellie Martin broke in. "Did you see that
po-faced Chief Constable what's-'is-face from up north �� � � you mean Houston
�� �Yeh, that's him. Droning on about better training for female officers.
Patronising bastard!"
"You know, I've been offered �10,000 by the News of the
World for an exclusive and �30,000 by the Sun if they can do topless
photographs. It's been a bit of an eye opener. I've even been asked to go on
Kilroy. He's doing a program on Exhibitionism."
Carol and Jenny exchanged
nervous glances.
"Oh, don't worry I've turned them down and Max Clifford too.
He wanted to be my publicist. Said he'd ensure everything was tasteful for ten
per cent extra."
"Look," said Ellie, "You've never really explained what
happened. All your tests came out negative and that man with the tooth and the
white streak didn't appear on any of the tapes. So what's the story? You can
tell us, surely?"
"I hope you're going to read me my rights," said Carol
sarcastically. This was starting to sound like a textbook interrogation.
"Sorry, Carol. It's been hard for us too. We don't know what to say. We'd
like to be able to stick up for you but you need to give us some ammo."
"Hmm!
Truth is, I just don't know. That's the worst thing. It's a complete nightmare.
It was like some sort of near-death experience. I could see what I was doing,
but I could do nothing to stop myself. Then just as I was waggling my tits at
the barrister, I suddenly sort of jumped back into my body and all I could think
of was to run and hide in the toilets."
Jenny and Ellie exchanged glances
again. "Ok, let's just drop it for now. What you need is to get out and let your
hair down. Is there any way we can sneak out the back without being
noticed?"
Carol took some persuading but after a bottle of wine a lot of
pretty dubious ideas can seem very attractive. In fact she had to admit it was
quite a laugh at their age, climbing over the wall into the lane at the rear and
sneaking out across the railway line. They arrived at the pub rather
dishevelled, giggling like naughty schoolgirls and settled down to a serious
drink and gossip session. Three or four vodkas later they even attracted the
attention of a group of pretty dishy lads and the night really took off.
Next morning Carol awoke with a thumping headache and a queasy feeling in
her stomach. A desperate grope around revealed she was alone in bed. Just as
well; last night had been the definition of bad sex. She levered her eyes open
to find a vaguely familiar figure standing at the foot of her bed.
"Oh," she
groaned. "Oh, hi, � um � Jason, wasn't it? What are you doing with that camera?"
The flash penetrated Carol's skull like a rapier point and too late she pulled
up the covers. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
"Very sorry,
an' all that, but there's fifty quid ridin' on me provin' you're no more than an
A-cup. Mind if I borrow this?" Jason grabbed the red lacy bra and shot out the
door, a stream off abuse pursuing him downstairs. Carol went to the window in
time to see the gallant Jason receiving his reward then ran to the toilet to be
sick.
Clearly there was nothing but misery to come if she stayed in London.
Carol quickly packed a travel bag, donned some dark glasses and a headscarf and
left via the wall at the rear to catch the 10.35 Cardiff train from Paddington.
When her mother greeted her at the door, she just flung herself into her arms
and sobbed her heart out.
2.
N-ablissin
The clock clicked over
to 10.00 and Nicky looked up to see a singularly beautiful woman enter the room.
"Mr McIntyre," she shook the outstretched hand, "I'm Vandana Patel." The touch
of her hand left Nicky temporarily lost for words. Stunned? Electrified? But how
could that describe such an exhilarating sensation? Vandana remained standing
only a foot or so from him, too close, uncomfortably close, but what lovely
skin! And that intoxicating scent! Behind the cute glasses, her warm brown eyes
smiled at him. For a woman who had no obvious need of any make up, she had taken
almost professional care over it. This close, he could see clearly the boldness
of her eyeliner and the subtlety of her shadow. Her lips had been carefully
outlined to make them slightly less full and a delicate blusher accentuated her
cheekbones. None of this seemed remotely necessary. The make up was clearly
intended to make a statement. And he had the strong feeling she was somehow
testing him.
She broke the momentary silence. "I thought a ten o'clock
meeting would give you an hour or so to check me out."
"Well, yes. Thanks for
coming, Professor. Actually I've spent most of the weekend acquainting myself
with you."
"My, what a sad life you lead."
That hurt. It was true that
Nicky was currently unattached, having chosen promotion to Special
Investigations over a relationship that he had always known was going nowhere
fast. But what really hurt was the casual insult from this fascinating woman.
"Oh no. You've led such an interesting life." He forced a smile and gestured
nervously to her to take a seat. Vandana raised an eyebrow. "Tell me more!"
"Well, I know you had a reputation as a bit of a wild child as a student.
You fell out with your parents and had to support yourself through university as
a � um � a dancer, � um � an exotic dancer."
"A stripper, you mean," Vandana
shrugged and fixed him with an amused look. �Well, you have been
thorough!�
Nicky decided to change tack. "You're very highly thought of, you
know. Everyone I talked to said you'd had brilliant research career. Then you
quit a Senior Research Fellowship at Imperial College about three years ago. I
gather you rattled the Head of Department's cage. Now, it seems, Imperial rate
you so highly that they've bribed you back in time for the Research Assessment;
a part-time chair, minimal teaching and your own lab at I C on top of your VPR
set-up. If I ever want to know anything about the biochemistry of the human
brain, ��
� � and I suggest you do! �. �
� � I've been told to call you.
One of my sources reckons you should be a millionaire. This research
organisation you founded, VPR, if you float it on the Stock Exchange they reckon
you'd make a fortune. They think you must be, well," Nicky's eyes twinkled,
"let's just say, very eccentric."
"Huh! You sound like my parents. So I could
be a millionaire. Why aren't I then? Control, that's the issue. I founded VPR so
that I could decide what results I'm prepared to sell and what I keep secret. I
didn't want to do military or enforcement work for example. I recruit people who
agree with my general philosophy and we decide democratically what commercial
projects to take on and how much to charge. I'm afraid the Suits wouldn't stand
for it. Oh, and talking of my parents, I would appreciate it if they didn't find
out about my career in striptease. They think I kept the wolf from the door
doing typing, accounts, tutoring and the like," she smiled slyly at this point,
"I don't think they quite realise how much it costs to dress like
this."
Nicky decided it was time to get to the point. �Fair enough, I'll be
discreet. Now you said you could shed some light on these strange goings on with
Carol Price.�
�I can tell you everything you need to know but I need your
assurance that nothing I say will go further.�
�That's out of the
question!�
�Look, that's the deal. You will understand when I explain. Do you
trust me?�
Although he could not fathom why, at that moment Nicky felt he
could trust this strange and brilliant woman with his life, his future, his
country's future and perhaps even the future of unborn generations of
McIntyre's. He nodded dumbly.
�If you renege on this, I'll simply deny
everything. I could make you look like a madman.�
It passed through Nicky's
mind that Special Investigations dealt with madmen's tales all the time but he
let it drop. His curiosity was on fire so to hell with the rules.
"The man
you're looking for is Michael Appleby, a former co-worker of mine. Here's a
photo."
"He looks a lot like Ricky Martin, the singer."
"Well, maybe. He's
certainly aware of his good looks. He seems to have come up with a variety of
simple disguises, which explains why you haven't been able to produce a coherent
identikit picture of him from his victims."
"How did you know
that?"
Vandana dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "As to how he
did it, I think a good demonstration beats a thousand words. Would you mind
standing up?"
Nicky very much did mind. As he started to rise he suddenly
produced a massive erection which, if he were to straighten, would be completely
obvious. He felt his heart pounding and his face flushing bright red from a
heady cocktail of lust and embarrassment. Hand in pocket he desperately tried to
reposition his penis more discreetly. This only excited it more and he teetered
on the edge of orgasm till just as suddenly it went limp and he collapsed into
his chair, in a shambles of sweat and ragged breath.
"You did that?" Nicky
gasped.
Vandana nodded. " Telerotics; the ability to induce sexual responses
at distance, in this case the abuse thereof. Not very nice is it, Mr
McIntyre?�
It certainly was not. All the long buried insecurities that
rampage through teenage boys' lives came flooding back. �Jesus Christ! There's a
time and a place, Professor Patel!�
�Look,� the Professor grinned a little
sheepishly and held out her hand, �Is it ok if I call you Nick or is it
Nicholas? If we're going to be on penis-erecting terms, I'd better be
Vandana.�
Nicky was dumbstruck for a moment. Then the sheer incongruity of
her remark got the better of him. �You've got a nerve! You certainly have got a
nerve." He paused and gave a snort of amusement, shaking first his head and then
her hand. "Anyway, it's Nicky to my friends. So, Vandana, what's the
trick?"
"Well you're a bright guy and you've been researching me all weekend.
You must have some ideas by now!"
"Well yes, of course, although I've got to
admit not a lot makes sense. I know you've published extensively on the
interaction between the conscious mind and the autonomous body systems. You're
also a frequently quoted expert on
olfactory-genetic-neuronal-hormonal-behavioural relationships.� Nicky felt quite
pleased to have remembered that line. He had even convinced himself he
understood it. �Are we talking hormones here? And I assume there must be some
sort of thought control going on.�
The professor rocked her hand back and
forth a few times. �You're getting warmer.�
�There's a lot of published
research into telepathy and I think I've covered it pretty thoroughly. My own
impression more or less agrees with your own conclusion in that review paper
last year, Vandana. If there are any such effects, and the evidence is not
strong, they are low magnitude, pretty feeble stuff. I've also looked at the
recent evidence for human pheromones and that seems, well, at best
contradictory."
"Well done, Mr McIntyre! � sorry, Nicky! You see these?"
Vandana pointed to her delicate nose studs, one a fiery red stone and one blue
in gold settings.
"Made by the same person as the rest of your remarkably
fine jewellery, I'd guess."
"Hmm! Perfectly right, of course; Sheetal, my
youngest sister and remind me some time to introduce you to her. She's a sucker
for a smooth talker. Anyway, the point is that they are the key to telerotics.
These little wonders of nano-technology contain Vomero-Nasal Boosters, VNB's.
Mean anything?"
"Sounds ghastly, like something you'd get after sixteen pints
of lager and a chicken vindaloo!"
�Jacobson's Organ, then?�
�Yes, I've
heard of that. Ah, I remember now. It's also called the vomero-nasal organ. In
animals it detects pheromones and triggers off their mating instincts. Most
adult humans have been found to have one but there's an argument about whether
it actually functions or is just a pre-human relic.�
�Oh, it functions all
right. It can detect unbelievably tiny concentrations of certain volatile
steroids; pheromones are one example. We emit these from glands, a bit like
sweat glands, in our skin. Other people, provided they are suitably tuned in,
respond unconsciously to these stimuli triggering the release of the appropriate
hormones into the bloodstream. These in turn modify their behaviour in some way.
Humans though are a lot fussier than, say, dogs, who will run five miles to
fight over a bitch in heat.�
�Sounds just like some rugby players I
know!�
Vandana laughed in spite of herself. �Oh very witty, Nicky! Ok, I
admit I have come across that particular sub-species. I expect you know the sex
ratio at Imperial; they say it floats on a sea of testosterone. Mostly though we
humans respond very selectively! For example, a woman will respond most
favourably to the pheromones of men who are genetically most dissimilar; that is
as far as possible from her father or brothers. That's why all those sure-fire
pheromone-based after-shaves never work for more than a handful of people. It's
also why the cosmetics industry is willing to pay for a few luxuries for yours
truly. When I manage to track down which fragrances enhance our natural
pheromones and which degrade them, they reckon they'll be opening up a gold
mine.�
�Ok, let me guess. This Michael Appleby also has a Vomero-Nasal
Booster,� Nicky picked up the photo again, �� but I don't see any nose studs.
Perhaps the gold tooth?�
�Well done again, but I suppose you wouldn't be in
this job if you didn't have any powers of deduction.�
Nicky bristled. He was
starting to find the Professor's patronising remarks rather offensive. �Look
now! What's the point of having a booster for your own pheromone detection
system? Surely for this chap Appleby's tricks to work, the victims would need to
have them?�
Vandana gave an infuriating little smile. �Fair question. Ok,
first point. Have you ever played darts? How about blindfold? You need to see to
hit the target, don't you? Any precision weapon depends on a feedback loop. In
this case, by sensing the changes in your emotions caused by tiny changes in my
pheromone output, I can tune in on you, build a mental map of your emotional
reactions and influence them accordingly.
Second point, the VNB also contains
a miniature chemical plant, which produces N-ablissin, a volatile steroid, which
I discovered back in 1995. N-ablissins are produced naturally by only a small
percentage of the population, often identified as exceptionally charismatic
individuals. It has the effect of unlocking the V-N receptors in those exposed
to it. Afterwards they exhibit a greatly enhanced response to other chemical
stimuli. My VNB's can fine-tune the exact formula of the N-ablissins I emit to
affect only individuals and their closest genetic relatives.�
Nicky
interrupted. �So why haven't you published any of this. Surely it's potentially
Nobel Prize winning research?�
�Well now I am disappointed. You've already
seen with Michael what can happen if telerotic power is abused. How do you think
people would react if this all became public? There would be panic and
witch-hunts.� Vandana was really fired up now and Nicky was quite taken aback as
she continued. �And don't forget the other emotions, fear, hate, disgust. Have
you ever wondered what was going on when a wave of panic spreads across a crowd
or frenzy grips a lynch-mob? I've worried long and hard about this, believe me!
Even positive emotions could be manipulated by unscrupulous demagogues and the
like.�
�Ok, I'll buy that. Now what about the breast expansion? Presumably
only a male telerotic can expand a female's breasts?�
�You're not thinking
logically now, Nicky.� Nicky felt himself going red again. �Remember I can
control the release of hormones more effectively in my own body than in someone
else's. The organ expansion is accomplished as part of the sexual subsystem. You
know that flushed look a woman gets when she is turned on. It's caused by an
increase in the blood supply to the erogenous zones including the breasts. She
gets a build-up of fluid, which is eventually dispersed during orgasm. By
amplifying and channelling that natural effect I can increase the volume of my
own breasts several times over.�
�Wow!�
�I don't know as yet whether
there is any intrinsic limit on the achievable breast size. It took many hours
of training to accomplish that much.�
Vandana hesitated here, knowing where
this was leading. Past experience had shown her that, unless she found a man
utterly repulsive, demonstrating her talent to him would inevitably end up, one
way or the other, in her making love with him. Did she want that complication?
Nicky was not particularly good looking but he did have intelligent smiling
eyes, narrow eager lips and useful looking hands. He appeared to keep himself
fit and she already knew that his male organ was in good nick. This was an
important point as she generally found that if she had to expend a lot of effort
enhancing it, her own enjoyment would be correspondingly limited. Interestingly,
her probing of his unconscious had revealed a vast, untapped libido.
Vandana
took a deep breath and slowly removed her jacket, saying, "I can demonstrate, if
you like." Nicky had the feeling that she had decided to demonstrate regardless,
as her nipples were now clearly visible through her blouse. Within a few seconds
the buttons on her blouse were starting to show the strain so she paused the
expansion while she slowly unbuttoned them. Her fingers moved delicately and
suggestively, betraying her training as an exotic dancer. Nicky swallowed hard
as her bra revealed itself. Of lacy black construction with reinforced straps
placed well to the side, its cups had been cleverly designed to stretch and
open, outwards and downwards as the breasts expanded. Thus what had started as a
full cup bra ended as a minimal quarter-cup supporting two massive brown globes,
which otherwise, Nicky guessed, would have drooped more than half way to her
navel. With the bra though, they retained their original pert position. The
width of the globes was such that they partially obscured Vandana's upper arms
but at the breastbone their separation remained unchanged so that where the bra
squeezed them together they formed a delightful 'tunnel of love'.
"My God,
that is awesome!"
Vandana gave one of her dazzling smiles and wiggled her
tits about a little in appreciation. As Nicky gazed adoringly, it occurred to
him that one, or rather two things were missing. Her nipples were showing only
the slightest signs of excitement. Breasts like these needed to be crowned by
equally stunning nipples. There formed in Nicky's mind a superbly erotic image,
succulent dark chocolate, protruding like cheeky little thumbs. Vandana squealed
as her nipples grew to more or less what Nicky had imagined. �You wicked man,�
she giggled. �You're taking advantage.� Nicky's nose flared and his heart
started pounding as he realised the implications of what she had just said.
Vandana decided to change the subject before he got any other ideas.
�I must
warn you now about one big drawback to this method of breast expansion. You know
how I said the expansion mechanism is essentially the same as that involved in
sexual arousal. My breasts will return to normal gradually over the next twelve
hours or so, as Carol and the others have found. Unfortunately the only way to
do it any more quickly is to have ... um � well to have an orgasm and,� Vandana
looked up at Nicky appealingly, �it really has to be a vaginal orgasm to
disperse the fluid properly.�
�You mean � here? � now? � me? � and
you?�
Vandana looked very deliberately round the room to left and right with
a sarcastic smile that made Nicky wince.
�You see,� Vandana pulled her blouse
across her huge breasts and failed to get to the nipples let alone cover them,
�You see otherwise I'm in a bit of a fix! Would you mind very much,
Nicky?�
�I'll just check my diary,� quipped Nicky, then folded his arms and
stared at her through narrowed eyes. �But I'm sure you must know how I feel
about it already! Now then, I bet you could just make me have sex with you,
couldn't you?�
�I could, but I'd regret it afterwards. This way," she purred
seductively over to his side, "is so much better.�
And so it was that
when Rosie O'Shea came in with coffee and biscuits, she found Nicky leaning back
against his desk with his trousers round his ankles and a buxom, brown-skinned
harlot wrapped noisily round his loins. Fortunately, she spilled the coffee on
the carpet and not herself. Nicky opened his eyes to be met by the shocked grin.
�This will take more than a couple of chocolate eclairs to hush up, I can
tell you!� Nicky was unable to answer, his mouth being stopped by a chocolate
brown nipple, whose size Rosie could scarcely credit. He did briefly stop
grunting and looked at Rosie in wide-eyed, silent appeal. She winked slyly but,
before leaving, she moved round behind the oblivious pair and quietly flicked a
switch.
Thanks to Nicky's heroic efforts Vandana's breasts were, in due
course, restored to normal. As Nicky pointed out, to Vandana's obvious
embarrassment, 'normal' turned out to be somewhat smaller than she had on
display when she first made her 10am entrance.
As Nicky opened the door to
seek out Rosie, he was met by a huge roar of clapping and cheering from the
mainly female gathering outside. It was many months before certain people tired
of mimicking �Come on Big Boy, do me now!� or �Oh God! You've got my hot spot!�
as he passed by and he never did entirely lose the reputation he acquired that
day. The price of Rosie's silence concerning Vandana's transformation turned out
to be even more than the lifetime's supply of cream-cakes Nicky had feared.
Secretly though Nicky came to enjoy coaching young Terence Padraig O'Shea's
football team and even kept it on after Terry had moved up to the under
12's.
3 Barry
Gallagher
Michael recognised
Jenna Ramone from her singing days. Unlike most one hit wonders, she had made
good use of her contacts, and occasionally Barry Gallagher's reputation, to
build an independent career as a publicist. For now she seemed very eager to
impress Michael with the luxury of Gallagher's lifestyle and the stature of the
celebrities who had fought for their tickets to the "Free Barry G" celebration
party. Proceeds were of course to charity though not one that Michael, who in
any case had a free ticket, had ever heard of. Amongst the throng of beautiful
people, there were plenty of easily recognised media faces and sportsmen, a
couple of minor politicians and, as Jenna delighted in pointing out, the sons
and daughters of judges, churchmen and cabinet ministers always eager to kick
over the traces.
Barry Gallagher had never fitted the traditional image of
the East End gangster. He was cultured and intelligent, holding a first class
degree in financial mathematics. As he developed his primary expertise in money
laundering he had gradually made himself indispensable to his underworld
mentors, skilfully positioning himself to take over and unify their firms when
eventually the heat got too much for them and they fled to their villas in
Spain. He had ensured he always held a stake in 'legitimate' businesses to fall
back on and even incurred the scorn of the old school of thuggery by paying
(some) tax. The downside was that he had constantly had to prove his hardness on
the way up. This had not been a problem. Barry had always been a cunning bully
and by the time he left primary school he had honed his undoubted talent for
torture on countless neighbourhood cats and dogs. Now in his forties, he
preferred to leave the blood and broken joints to subordinates. It was in any
case an excellent way of testing new recruits. What he got off on these days was
psychological pain and humiliation.
His celebrity status was largely an
accident. Through mixing socially with their managers, Barry had become drug
dealer of choice to a number of rock stars. When he set up house with Jenna, it
had been her idea to use them to cultivate the chattering classes, realising
that maintaining a high profile with grateful friends in high places was as good
as any smokescreen.
�Well, Michael, you've done me proud. Sorry I can't
announce you as my saviour but some things are best kept between friends. What a
laugh, eh? I've got to admit I thought at first you were a complete nutter but
you delivered the goods and with style. You being looked after ok?�
�Yeh,
great party, Barry! Jenna's been showing off your house. Business is good
then.�
�And you're welcome here any time, my friend.�
�You know a funny
thing happened to me when I arrived,� Michael raised an eyebrow. �You know the
maid who met me at the door? She asked me if I'd like her to lick my bollocks
and then just took my coat all innocent as if she'd just said to have a nice
time!�
Gallagher laughed. �Just a little joke I like to play. She doesn't
understand a word of English. We had a dinner party last week where all the
servants were young refugees, mostly from the Balkans and the Middle East.
Gorgeous looking, but none of them had a clue about the lingo. With a bit of
effort � I employed a proper language coach � we got them trained so every time
they spoke to a guest they offered some perverted act or other. Hilarious, eh?
The beauty of it is they looked so innocent as it came out. Got a bit out of
hand towards the end, mind you, once we'd all had a few drinks. Best bit was the
look on their faces when they started to realise what was going on.
Anyway,
Michael, you're going to be a moderately rich man.�
�Right, that's why I'm
here.�
"Well, your late Uncle Richard, the one you didn't know you had, just
left you these shares. Sell them tomorrow and you've got the �200K plus a bonus.
Or hang on to them till next week. I know for sure they're on the way
up."
"Worth a bit of a gamble then?"
"Put it this way," Gallagher tapped
his finger against the side of his nose. "It's not a gamble. Ok, that's settled.
Now then, Michael, you're a remarkably gifted young man and, now I know what you
can do for me, I've got some ideas about how we can make use of your talents. It
will be very amusing work and financially rewarding too, of course. I'll expect
you to work exclusively for me, of course."
�That's not what I have in
mind. I intend to stay a free operator.� Michael could feel Gallagher's mood
changing. He could sense the dangerous anger, painfully sharp, reminiscent of
jealousy.
�I don't think you understand.� Gallagher lifted a finger and two
of the tough looking gorillas, who had been lurking at the rear of the room, now
stepped menacingly forward. He stretched his hands out and smiled
disingenuously. �There is no way I could sleep peacefully in my bed at night if
I thought you were working for one of my enemies.�
�I don't think you
understand.� Michael gestured to the two heavies, who had suddenly sprouted
tent-like erections, which they were desperately trying to hide. In turn, each
groaned and spasmed, a dark stain spreading across their trousers. He looked
Gallagher straight in the eye. �Every man has his weakness.�
"Get them out of
my sight!" Barry Gallagher screamed at the other heavies. For a second Michael
thought he had misjudged him. He had assumed he was safe in a relatively public
place. Alarm at his own telerotically-induced erection had got the better of
Gallagher. His mind was screaming murder. If he suddenly produced a gun it would
be all over. It was a blessing that seated behind his heavy oak desk,
Gallagher's own embarrassment was hidden. Michael could sense the conflict in
his mind as he battled to control the instinct to lash out.
�Ok, Michael. Ok
now, that was a bit unnecessary don't you think.�
�But very
amusing!�
Gallagher flushed but Jenna now intervened. �I think, Mr Appleby,
you must have misunderstood Barry. If you want to maximise your income with
minimum risk to yourself, then what you need is an agent. Of course he will
respect your independence and your, well, professionalism. But after all, he has
the contacts and he knows who can be trusted."
Gallagher was happy to take
the cue. "If you like, Michael, you can talk to some of the other, em,
'technicians' I act for. Discuss with them how to get the best deal. I'm sure
it's in both our interests. Meantime enjoy the party. Perhaps Jenna could show
you the new pool. Twenty-five metres with a fully retractable roof and a ten
metre diving platform. And do come round to the club next Monday evening. I'll
run some of my ideas past you.�
�I'll certainly take you up on that. No hard
feelings?� They shook hands stiffly and Michael turned to rejoin the party with
a surge of relief. Jenna took his arm and winked at him, saying "I'm sure there
are a few things you could show me, Michael."
�Oh, by the way,� Gallagher
called after him. �Just a little thing that's been bothering me." Michael
stopped warily at the door with the strong feeling he had just been Columbo'd.
"Are there any more like you?�
�Eh? Um, � no. What makes you think
that?�
As soon as Jenna had escorted Michael from the room, Barry picked up
the phone. �Barry G speaking. I've little research job for you. Urgent. Usual
retainer and bonuses. Call in at the club tomorrow.�
4. Telerotics
�� five,
four, three, two, one, LET''S DO IT! Twenty, thirty, forty, �� Vandana gasped as
the acceleration pressed her deep back into her seat. � � eighty, ninety, one
hundred! YEEHAAR! Eleven point six seconds!� Nicky throttled back the MG and
braked rapidly to join the traffic cruising at just above seventy. �Just in
time,� Nicky murmured, nodding his head toward the watching patrol car.
�Wow!
That was better then sex!�
Nicky choked and gave her a quizzical stare.
Vandana held up both hands. �Ok! Ok! Better than chocolate then!� Nicky gave a
bemused shake of the head and put on a fake Bogart accent. �You sure have a way
of making a guy feel good.�
�Well actually, I should be thanking you. All my
best work has been done after great sex � and yesterday afternoon was
very productive.�
�Nice to have played my part in the Onward March of
Science, Professor� said Nicky sarcastically.
Vandana ignored him and started
on excitedly about some hill-climb she planned to try out with the MG later that
month.
Vandana had been quite determined to meet the victims, especially
Carol Price although Nicky had almost given up on tracking her down. She seemed
to have vanished without telling anyone. It finally occurred to him that she
might have gone to her parents in Cardiff. His heart sank when he saw the number
of Prices listed in the phone directory. Fortunately a mutual acquaintance from
their student days at Warwick, remembered the street name and a phone call
established that Carol was there, suffering from depression and lack of sleep
but willing to see them. This was a great relief as none of the other victims
had been any help. Apart from the three nuns, all were heavily sedated and
thought to be on the brink of madness. The nuns themselves had survived the
experience with remarkable equanimity. Unlike the others, they knew precisely
who was to blame. It was clearly the Devil's work and after undergoing exorcism
and committing themselves to many years' penance for the sins they must surely
have committed, they got on with their lives with their faith all the stronger
for it.
So now Vandana and Nicky were heading down the M4 to Cardiff, always
providing they didn't get arrested for speeding. Nicky was more than a little
alarmed at how easily he had been talked into showing off the sports car's
acceleration and vowed to himself not to be so easily led in future. Vandana
seemed to be tearing into his life like an avalanche. Her unusual telerotic
abilities were quite scary and he could not help worrying constantly about
whether he was being manipulated. She had responded to these fears by telling
him rather impatiently that human beings had always manipulated other humans,
using quite conventional means. To make the point, she fluttered her eyelids
rather brazenly and put on a seductive smile. Somehow that hardly seemed
reassuring.
To make matters worse, She had somehow made Her way into
his dream. Last night both Nicky and Vandana had soared high on symmetric
trajectories through the leafy boughs above those twin peaks, before plunging
down through the same magnificent valley, looping and twirling round, showing
off their glorious plumage before landing expertly on the back of Carol's hands.
She again smiled proudly at their antics and placed one on each nipple, which
they kissed fervently before singing their harmonious song of greeting. Using
their claws to balance, Nicky and Vandana spread their wings then each hopped
over to the other tit. She squealed as their claws gripped then smiled again, as
forgiveness is divine. They spread their wings further till they joined up,
circling her waist miraculously in a feathered garland. Now they were squirrels,
flicking their interlocking tails across her pubic hair, tickling her inner
thighs as they slowly parted. Paw in paw they ran back and forth between her
legs as she knelt on the sun-kissed grass. Then suddenly they were rabbits,
doing what rabbits do best. Carol had giggled then picked them up and placed
them, still locked together, between her breasts where gently squeezing them
together, she started to massage their bodies. Her scent was overpowering. The
exhilaration of being smothered in that vast cleavage washed over him. Every
nerve, every sense was being stimulated beyond endurance. Nicky felt he must
burst with pleasure!
�Hey! Get a grip!� Vandana's alarmed voice broke into
his reverie. �You almost went up the back of that Fourtrak! I couldn't care less
if you get done for speeding but if you smash up my little babe ... ,� she
patted the dashboard. Nicky apologised quickly and promised to treat her beloved
car with more respect. She replied acidly that if she was going to meet her
death because of some sex-crazed fantasy of his, then she'd damn well better be
the star of that fantasy. Nicky went crimson and foolishly spluttered a denial,
which only brought more sarcasm down on his head. It ain't easy working with a
woman who can read your every feeling.
Time to change the subject, so
Nicky asked Vandana how she first made her discoveries.
�How did I discover
telerotics? Hmm! I've always been curious about whether telepathy is possible
ever since I can remember. The first clue came when I was working on my PhD
research in biochemistry, trying to figure out how the various chemical
messengers in the brain worked. It all came about because I was still working as
a stripper to supplement my grant. (I'm afraid I'd developed some expensive
tastes, clothes, makeup, jewellery and so on.) We were expected to chat to the
customers at the club and the easiest way to break the ice was to ask what they
liked about the other girls. That really seemed to turn them on.
One girl in
particular was their favourite. Her stage name was Chantelle and she was mine
too. We used to have a great laugh and she got up to all sorts of pranks. There
was a running joke among the rest of the girls, 'We shan't tell on Chantelle'
and that sort of thing. Many of the men said that when she approached the climax
of her routine, they felt as if she was actually touching their skin, sometimes
kissing their dicks, stroking and licking even fucking them. Whatever movements
she made or hinted at, they felt the corresponding sensations. They always tried
to get eye contact with her, even if it was only for a few seconds, because then
the experience was much stronger. A few even admitted to having had spontaneous
orgasms.
I assumed they had been masturbating secretly or were just
fantasising but there turned out to be some truth in what they said. Working
round some of the other bars and clubs I discovered that most of them had one
girl, occasionally two, who could produce all the sensations of sexual intimacy
from a distance and, in particularly susceptible men and especially after eye
contact, induce spontaneous orgasm.
I realised that research into telepathy
was heading up a blind alley. It wasn't thoughts we transmitted but feelings;
and the messengers turned out to be chemical, minute almost undetectable traces,
rather than electrical brain waves or any such feeble stuff. As you probably
know much of my own research in psychochemistry, where I built my reputation, is
on related chemical messengers produced by anger, rejection and
frustration.�
Here Nicky interrupted. �I can't help thinking I've only heard
half the story. You've told me where the VNB's come in and I understand what you
meant yesterday about feedback loops. But you haven't explained how you control
your own hormones let alone anyone else's. I know a lot of the time I can't
control my own feelings and I find it hard to believe I ever really could!�
"The answer to your question is months of intensive training during which I
gradually learned to control first my own procreative system and later those of
others. I started by studying the visualisation techniques I mentioned before. I
found that with practice I could induce, without any physical stimuli, a state
of unbridled erotic lust that some people call concupiscence. The trouble was
that this took time and was very haphazard.� She had a quiet chuckle to herself
at this point then continued.
�When I was searching for some way to get this
power under control, my mind went back to some tales from my childhood. My aunt
used to recount the story of the Hjetari, a mythical cult exclusive to women,
whose founders had been driven from their privileged positions as priestesses on
one of the Greek islands. After a long and dangerous journey through the Middle
East and across the Indian Ocean, they had become marooned on a tropical island
where they had devoted themselves to mastering control of their sexual functions
through meditation and extraordinarily disciplined exercise. Their High
Priestess was reputed to be a hermaphrodite who could rejuvenate or age at will.
Although one version of the story maintained that they procreated exclusively
amongst themselves, another said that they seduced faithless young men, using
them to father their children before disposing of them. The latter was most
often told to boys as a warning, the former to girls though everyone had heard
both."
"This all seems pretty far-fetched."
"I agree. As scientists we've
been accustomed to dismiss this sort of thing as the ravings of mystics. Through
the ages, there has been no shortage of religious leaders, who have claimed to
influence the workings of their bodies through the power of the mind. Some were
doubtless charlatans, some maybe not. However, we now have some well-documented
examples and, this is the thing, some understanding of the mechanisms involved.
For example, there's pain control. Or take the top athletes who can control
their output of adrenaline by visualisation.
Anyway, if the Hjetari still
existed, I thought perhaps they could help me.�
�I take it you succeeded,�
interrupted Nicky.
�Yes, and no. When I left I C, Michael and I went off to
search for them and, to cut a long story short, we did indeed track them down.
However we got no help or encouragement from the high priestess. She was afraid
of the temptations of modern life. I had given up all hope when a young woman
came knocking on my door. She was a recent initiate to the highest level of the
priesthood who, unknown to me, had quarrelled with the high priestess over
whether my discoveries should be used or ignored. She risked all to escape and
became my guide, teacher and friend. I'm sorry to say that, when Michael
betrayed us, she despaired of the civilised world and � ," Vandana paused as if
wrestling with a painful memory, " � and she returned to her own people to face
their displeasure.�
They ran into a light shower, striking a contrast with
the shafts of sunlight which pierced the dark, scudding clouds. Far below the
sun was glinting off the estuary as they crossed the Severn Bridge into Wales. A
spectacular double rainbow arched across the river as Nature vied with mortal
bridge builders.
5.
Cardiff.
When they reached
Cardiff, it did not take long to find the street they were looking for. Mr and
Mrs Price lived in one of those old terraced properties within walking distance
of the centre of the town, the sort that turn out to be much bigger than you
expect when you go inside. Mrs Price greeted Nicky like a long lost son, though
they had only met twice before, and showed them into the sitting room where
Carol was waiting. She then disappeared to make tea or coffee.
�It's been
too long, Carol,� said Nicky. �I can't tell you how glad I am to see you're
alright.�
Carol threw her arms round him and kissed him on the cheek.
�Thanks! Thanks for coming all this way.� There was an audible catch in her
voice. Vandana sensed in both Carol and Nicky, a confused awkwardness, a
cauldron of mixed up emotions hiding just below the surface.
"I gather Landon
couldn't stand the heat. What on earth did you see in him?" Carol flushed as
Nicky moved into top ranting gear. "I never could understand why perfectly
intelligent women end up shacked up with emotionally retarded 'rugger-buggers'
like him!"
Vandana interrupted brusquely, "Actually, I can tell you exactly
why! � but perhaps some other time?"
�Oh, of course. Yes, I'm sorry," said
Nicky. "Carol, this is Professor Patel. She's an expert on
Psychochemistry."
�Hi, Carol. It's Vandana by the way. How have you been
coping?"
"Ok," came Carol's halting reply. "Well it's been better since I
came home. Mum and dad have been very good really. They've kept things quiet,
cotton wool treatment, I suppose. It's been a bit weird though. Mum pretends
nothing's happened. Dad keeps collecting all the cuttings like I was a celebrity
or something but he never talks about them." Vandana and Nicky made some
sympathetic noises. All bar one or two of the alleged scandals that had been
dredged up from her past life were things that had indeed happened.
Unfortunately they had mostly happened to other people, known either to herself
or Nicky. When you go digging for dirt, especially waving a fat chequebook, some
people can be very obliging.
�Look, Nicky, you said you could help me?
Explain what happened?�
Nicky nodded. "I think, though, it would be better
coming from the professor."
"Right," said Vandana, "but I do need you to
promise your absolute secrecy � "
Carol looked doubtfully at Nicky who
shrugged and nodded. "Ok."
" � and I would like your help to get the man
responsible." She went on to explain to the incredulous Carol about Michael
Appleby and telerotics. Carol, of course, had many questions and Vandana had one
of her own. "You might find this impertinent, Carol, but I couldn't make you do
what Michael had you doing in court. I'm worried that he has developed some
further power of control beyond what we taught him. But there might be another
explanation. There was a story in one of the tabloids claiming that you'd been a
stripagram girl when you were younger."
Carol looked uncomfortable. "It was
just a summer job before I went to Uni."
"You didn't do a stripping
policewoman, did you?" asked a wide mouthed Nicky.
"No! Look, I was a cuddly
gorilla or a sexy nurse if you must know!"
Vandana glared at Nicky who
quickly shut up.
"I guess you just did topless?" Carol nodded. "Just as
well," continued Vandana. "It could have been much worse. Can I ask if you
enjoyed it? I mean did you get a bit turned on? There's a reason for
asking."
"Hmm! At first I was too nervous, to be honest. After the first few
I did get quite a kick out of it, at least most of the time. I was glad to
finish though. There were a couple of rather unpleasant stag nights near the end
that took all the fun out of it."
"You see I think what's happened is that
Michael has somehow learned how to block the neuronal pathways from the
rational, decision making parts of the brain. It's something I've been wondering
about myself, although up to now it has never been a top priority. So, your body
and mind were aroused, you had an audience and you were eager to please. You're
brain had no direction, so it reverted to a previously established routine.
Think of it like the autopilot taking over. Or walking home drunk - hah! -
without being aware of it. I don't believe he actually controlled what you were
doing in the literal sense. He probably didn't expect it when you went into your
routine. I bet he thought Christmas had come early."
Carol did not know
whether to be glad or upset when she heard this theory. She was having great
difficulty coming to terms with all this. It was reassuring to know she wasn't
mad and the furious anger, which would consume her in days to come, was only
just kindling. It was more that she was afraid. If someone could mess with her
mind so easily, what was to stop it happening again? And like Nicky, she could
not help feeling uneasy in case Vandana chose to manipulate her. Vandana
explained that what she had experienced could not be 'un-experienced'. �Can't
put the genie back in the bottle.� Instead she must herself learn to recognise
and resist any outside telerotic influences. And the best way to do that, would
be to become a telerotic herself. After some tests, she could have a Vomero
Nasal Booster fitted at the V P Research laboratories within two to three days.
The rudiments of hormone control, she could learn within the week if she started
now and applied herself. Vandana herself had cancelled almost everything for the
week and would be her tutor. The rest was up to Carol. It would be difficult but
she would learn a great deal about herself and her fellow human beings. She
would have insights denied to mere mortals. She would have powers undreamed of
for good or evil �
Carol broke into this flight of rhetoric abruptly. It was
after all not a difficult decision. What else was there in her future? But why
did Vandana need her? Vandana explained that she and Michael were too evenly
matched, they knew each other too well. Suitably disguised, though, Carol could
take him by surprise. This sounded plausible, though both Nicky and Carol had
their suspicions that she was keeping secret a great deal about her relationship
with Michael.
To Nicky's disappointment, he was not allowed to sit in on
Carol's training. When he made it very clear that he was available should they
need him for anything, they took the liberty of dispatching him to the kitchen
to help Mrs Price make dinner. The next day he would have to take the train back
to London, start the search for Michael Appleby and catch up on the other cases
he was working on.
The various readings and blood samples that Vandana
required took over an hour. She then broke off to do some calculations before
up-loading the specifications for Carol's Vomero Nasal Booster to the VP
Research Labs. The VNB, she explained, would be ready for fitting in two days
time. Meanwhile Carol's first step towards controlling her own hormones would be
to allow Vandana to take over. �It's no worse than the instructor having dual
controls when you're learning drive or fly,� she said when Carol looked askance.
�For starters, let's just go through a standard breast expansion much as Michael
did, except you'll know what's happening. Then I'll teach you some defensive
tactics and we can finish off by seeing what you can do with a little help from
me.�
Now came the moment Carol was dreading, reliving the courtroom
experience, the feeling of someone else taking over her body. Vandana insisted
that Carol attempt to achieve the required state of intense erotic arousal
without her help. �To make it more fun, think of your favourite fantasy. Don't
worry, I can't read your mind. I can tell when you're sufficiently aroused but I
won't know why. Oh, and take off that bra. Actually I'm surprised you bother
with one.�
By the time Mrs Price called them in for dinner, Carol was the
proud, but temporary, owner of a perfectly balanced pair of C-cup breasts.
Unfortunately Jezebel and Delilah were being their usual delinquent selves.
Carol was very conscious of how visible they were without a bra. Nicky spent
most of the meal staring at them and, much to Vandana's obvious amusement, Carol
spent most of the meal catching him and blushing.
The after dinner session
went equally well. Carol was a tall woman, with a strongly built athletic torso,
ideally suited for carrying off an even larger bust-size. Vandana insisted that
Carol try out a variety of ways of �getting her juices going� and she had
brought some videos and magazines to try out over the next few days. At this
stage all that was expected of Carol was to experience the sensations Vandana
induced, associate with them her own mental picture and try her best to mimic
them.
At about nine, Vandana decided to call a halt. She measured Carol
carefully under her breasts and again at their maximum circumference.
�Thirty-four; and forty-three. A nine inch difference,� she announced. �That's
really very impressive for your first try.� Carol had successfully reached about
an E-cup with matching nipples and an enlarged clitoris, which was proving to be
a major distraction. Vandana chose this time to explain about the express route
to restoring her body to normal via a vaginal orgasm. Carol looked first of all
aghast, then confused and doubtful.
�Look,� said Vandana, as she hesitated,
�why don't we get Nicky in? He said he was willing to help with
anything.�
�Oh � um � Nicky � um � well � yes Nicky. Of course Nicky
could � um � do it. Em � he is � um � a man ��
�Yeh, well spotted!� said
Vandana sarcastically. �So, what's wrong with Nicky? Actually, I can recommend
him whole-heartedly.�
�You mean ..? You've �? With him? You and him?� Carol
was visibly shaken.
�So what's the surprise?� She wiggled her hips, snaked
one arm above her head and pouted seductively. �He didn't stand a chance!�
Carol looked even more shocked and then started feeling really cross with
herself for getting so het up. She ground her teeth audibly. After all, it was
no surprise. Vandana was a beautiful looking woman; a beautiful and totally
amoral woman. Vandana continued. �Anyway, I don't know what's wrong with you.
He's got the hots for you big time.�
�Well maybe I'm not such an irredeemable
slut as you!�
�Woo-hooo! That hurt!� came Vandana's acid response. �And a
little bird told me that after ten vodkas you were anybody's!�
Fortunately at
that point Nicky, who was becoming suicidally depressed looking at Mr Price's
collection of newspaper cuttings, knocked on the door to suggest they go out to
explore Cardiff's night-life. The look on Nicky's face, when he saw Carol's new
body, was so hilarious that the two women collapsed in a heap on the sofa. A
truce was tacitly declared. Carol was worried she would be recognised from the
photos in the newspapers so Vandana provided a wig and suggested a new makeup
style. Most importantly she loaned Carol a bra and a suitably large top to go
with her new bust size.
Two days later, the time came to visit VP
Research for the fitting of the VN Booster.
The fitting turned out to be a
lot less painful then Carol had imagined. Afterwards Vandana took her to a
private suite, before switching it on and then only at 20% power. �Like summer
sunshine rolling back the early morning mists clinging to the valley floor. Like
a deaf girl hearing her first dawn chorus. Like a city dweller seeing the Milky
Way for the very first time.� Yes, Carol got a bit poetic when she tried to
describe the experience to Nicky later. There really were no words to do it
justice and Carol felt sure that only those who had themselves experienced the
restoration of lost sight or hearing could possibly empathise with her. She
became immediately and acutely aware of certain feelings in Vandana that she had
sensed only hazily up to now. First and foremost, at that instant, was her
concern for Carol. As she thought of the number of times she had bitched at her
in the last couple of days, Carol felt a pang of guilt.
Later as they talked
she sensed a diffuse amalgam of worries and fears, all circling round telerotics
and, when Michael Appleby was mentioned, a veritable bedlam of emotions; anger,
worry, desire, (that shocked her, though it confirmed her suspicions), and
sorrow. This confusion of feelings was not something Carol had expected and she
was relieved to have had such a gentle weaning into the world of the VN Booster.
Vandana turned the power up to 40% and they went through some of the exercises
they had been trying in the previous couple of days. To Carol's amazement much
that had seemed unbelievably difficult now became easy.
�Let's try this on
70% now,� said Vandana. �This is where you get your revenge on me. I won't
resist. I want you to read to me out loud. It's my favourite erotic story.
Remember, to reproduce the effect you want, you must visualise the same mental
pictures you formed when we did the exercises before.�
As Carol read the
story of the widowed Queen and her loyal, handsome, virile and obedient guards,
she felt she could almost grasp Vandana's mounting excitement. The Queen was
bathing naked in her favourite, secluded pool when her party was attacked by a
band of thugs hired by her depraved uncle. She watched helpless from behind the
waterfall as her brave Royal Guards fought off the attack at no small cost to
themselves. Once they were safe the guards bathed their wounds while their
Captain, all rippling muscles and flashing smiles, swept her up and carried her
with ease to the shore. There the young men dried and pampered her body before
she indulged her passions.
Carol reached a point where the Captain took the
Queen's left nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue rapidly over it as she
stroked his head and neck. She formed a vivid picture of Vandana's nipple being
sucked and tried to project it into Vandana's mind. To her surprise and delight,
Vandana moaned softly and her nipple became visibly engorged.
Typical of
Vandana, Carol thought, that her favourite story should involve loads of young
men satisfying her every whim. Carol herself felt she had a rather more elevated
reason for liking it. For throughout the ensuing orgy the Queen retained her
authority and her dignity. Vandana had no such luck. Once Carol discovered how
to work her new toy, she was like a six-year-old on Christmas day. She put
Vandana through the mill, had her writhing, squirming and panting through three
orgasms and experimenting with every remotely phallic object in the room. At the
story's end, she looked up at Carol, exhausted and dishevelled. "That was
awesome! I guess I must have been an excellent teacher!" before collapsing,
utterly spent on the floor.
Next morning Vandana felt they should return to
Cardiff where Carol would have some support and privacy. "Carol, before you meet
your parents again, how do you think they really feel about you?�
�Oh,
disappointed I suppose. And sad,� Carol replied sombrely, � Yes, very
sad.�
�Your father seemed much better after Nicky talked to him but I must
warn you they are hurting for you. I think it's the feeling of powerlessness. I
don't have children and I had no idea how parents feel when they're going
through a bad time. Just be prepared. Sharing the pain and anguish of those you
love is one of the downsides of your new powers.� It was a warning for which
Carol was truly thankful.
The two women spent the next two days
"re-socialising Carol� as Vandana put it. The weather was very kind to them, a
miniature Indian summer, a few days of glorious sunshine in late September. They
explored central Cardiff by foot and by bicycle, following the River Taff
through the park, round the Castle grounds, then an early morning stroll through
the town centre before it got crowded. They took an open-top bus tour of the
Cardiff Bay Barrage and the developments replacing the old docks, then took some
time to wander round the National Museum of Wales. Gradually Carol was coming
into contact with more people. First just ones and twos, then small groups for
short periods. She learned to focus her new sixth sense, screening out
unnecessary or uninteresting feelings, managing sensory overload in the way our
brains do automatically for the other five senses. Crowds still seemed
overwhelming to Carol and they were careful to avoid them.
In the warm
sunshine they naturally felt more comfortable with bare legs, low cut tops and
short skirts. Vandana, of course, insisted on some modest breast expansion and,
when Carol protested, explained brutally that she was going to have to get used
to it sooner or later. Carol retorted that she was just an exhibitionist, that
she just got a kick out of attracting attention. Vandana won, naturally. She
could be very persuasive.
One thing that amazed Carol, was the range of
reactions they got. She was quite bowled over by the intensity of desire she
could feel in many men and some women. To be the focus of such all-consuming
lust was scary in a thrilling sort of way and gave her quite a high. At one
point they came suddenly across a young couple kissing passionately, completely
oblivious to everything going on around them. Their passion came over Carol like
a crashing breaker, thundering surf penetrating every nerve in her body. She
felt her pussy go moist and had to grab Vandana's arm to stop herself falling
over. Vandana, though, just smiled and seemed quite blas� about it.
They came
across other emotions as strong but less pleasant. Envy from some, disgust from
others; sometimes a mixture of desire and fear. At one point, they rounded a
corner to be confronted by half-a-dozen skinheads with Swastikas tattooed on
their scalps. Immediately Vandana was the object of a torrent of racial abuse.
With her training on the force and her experience in martial arts, Carol was not
one to be intimidated. She psyched herself up for a physical confrontation but
to her surprise Vandana pacified them without a word. While Carol's senses were
being overwhelmed by the shambolic torrent of confused hatred, lust and
self-pity, Vandana was working away, soothing and calming, sowing doubt, shame
or fear. Their threats came to nothing. As they walked on, Carol wondered with a
sinking feeling what the mind of a psychopath would be like. She had interviewed
two in her career and that was frightening enough.
That afternoon the two
women found a secluded spot by the river and had a very pleasant picnic. As they
basked in the sunshine, Vandana decide it was time to ask Carol about her
relationship to Nicky. There was an obvious mutual attraction and when they next
met, she would have to face up to the strength of Nicky's feelings for her. Had
they been lovers? Carol realised that she had never really been honest about
this even to herself. She had always hoped that Nicky would make the first move
and secretly resented that he had not. Perhaps they had always been the victims
of bad timing. It seemed that whenever one was free, the other was in a
committed relationship. Carol confessed that she had once tried to seduce him
but could not carry it through. His loyalty to his girlfriend, who happened to
be one of her friends, was a part of his character which she admired too much to
damage.
Vandana decided that it was time for more expansion exercises. So
when the young cyclist came round the corner, he found himself face to face with
four of the largest breasts he had ever seen. He wobbled frantically, caught his
pedal on a low bush and catapulted head over heels into the river. From his
floundering it was immediately clear that he was a non-swimmer.
Carol kicked
off her shoes and dived in. The pool was quite deep and the river, though not in
spate, was running strongly. Carol sensed the panic paralysing the young man's
brain and knew that she would have to calm him down if she hoped to approach him
safely. This soothing exercise, she had been through with Vandana earlier in the
week and, to her delight, it worked perfectly first time. Approaching from
behind, she was able to pull him on his back, kicking strongly towards the bank.
The young man seemed more than content to lie back, nestling his head between
Carol's huge breasts. In the circumstances, she could not help thinking, a
little help with the kicking would have been much appreciated.
The current
had taken them some seventy metres downstream by the time they reached the bank.
Vandana, who had made a half-hearted attempt to cover herself while following
their progress, arrived to help them out. Unfortunately, as she had run along
the bank, she had attracted the attention (for all too obvious reasons) of some
teenage lads having a kick-about. So Carol had to cope with a lot more helping
hands than she really wanted. The young man lay still on the bank eyes closed.
�I bet he wants the kiss of life,� said one of the footballers. �Yeh, go on,
Miss. He needs the kiss of life,� joined in the others. But he was clearly
breathing and eventually, when it became obvious that oral resuscitation was not
on the cards, he opened his eyes and started rambling on about angels and
heaven. The two women made themselves as decent as they could and, after
thanking the lads, escorted the young man back up the riverbank to collect his
bicycle.
His name turned out to be Jamie and, yes, he would be very happy to
share their picnic. While he tucked in, the two women were whispering and
giggling like a couple of twelve-year-olds. To Vandana this seemed an ideal
chance to demonstrate the quick route back to normal breast sizes. After all, he
was undoubtedly the cutest thing they'd seen all week, he was very grateful and
eager to please and Carol could not deny (because Vandana knew anyway) that she
had the hots for him. To Carol this was just an example of Vandana's
irresponsible promiscuity. Vandana pointed out that Carol would have had no
second thoughts if she had had too much to drink and asked cuttingly, whether
she preferred drunken bad sex because it was guilt-free. Carol's final argument
collapsed when Vandana produced not one but two condoms. And in the end, Carol
had to confess that outdoor sex with young Jamie was sheer joy.
When they got
back to the Price's, there was a message to contact Nicky
urgently.
6. Barry G's
Barry Gallagher sat at the head of a long,
immaculately polished mahogany table around which were seated his seven closest
lieutenants, all neatly turned out for the board meeting of Barry G. Holdings.
Barry himself was making notes as they proceeded using a code known only to
himself. The anodyne published minutes, of course, bore no relation to the
actual business. The plush boardroom on the first floor made a sharp contrast
with the rest of the building, an ever-so-slightly upmarket striptease club
called, guess what, Barry G's. Strip clubs had lately become an obligatory
accessory for London's wannabe criminal masterminds, replacing the drinking dens
of yesteryear. A gangster clich� Jenna Ramone called it. Even though the
pounding bass line from the floor below was a constant source of irritation,
Barry still found the club useful as a source of perks for the lower echelons of
his organisation. He had nevertheless been considering moving his HQ elsewhere.
In fact a wholesale re-siting of his various operations had now become urgent.
Too many of them had clearly been under police surveillance. In the aftermath of
his trial, Barry could see many months of effort ahead of them before normal
service could be resumed.
Second item on the agenda was a report from the
Personnel Manager, Sally Waring, who had given up her previous lucrative career
as Roxy, to take up an even more lucrative career in criminal management. The
organisation badly needed to recruit, following serious losses at all levels in
the aftermath of Barry's arrest. Sally's preferred method was to take on
carefully selected minor criminals just prior to their release from prison.
Although known to the police, she argued that these were less likely to cause
the sort of random mayhem that might bring the organisation to public notice.
However, what with the prisons being over run by hard drugs and HIV, it was
becoming increasingly hard to get reliable operatives.
The final item was
perhaps the most serious. Barry's absence from the scene had encouraged all
sorts of centrifugal forces. Many of the minor organisations, which had
effectively recognised his authority, if only because they needed his money
laundering machinery, were based on local or racial groups. Several of these had
made bids for independence and, worse, various minor turf wars had broken out
all over southern England. In Barry's opinion an example must be made. The only
issue had been who should be the target. Of the obvious candidates, the Turks
controlled the heroin trade and, much as he would have enjoyed it, he knew their
contacts were too valuable. The Yardies were for the moment too strong, the
Triads pretty well untouchable. Best to target the Johnny-come-lately's of
London gangland, the Albanian gang led by Haxhi Berisha.
These had alienated
the few allies they had by their total unreliability and their habit of
indulging in drug-fuelled shoot-outs. Head of Security, Baz Tomasin,
reported.
�We're holding Haxhi's brother in the old warehouse. The plan is to
deliver this,� he tossed a small bloody plastic bag onto the table, �tomorrow
morning with the tape of the amputation. He screamed like a pig but God only
knows what it all meant. There's a ring too. Distinctive, it ought to identify
him. They'll get coked up as usual, launch their war of liberation and as soon
as they're inside, boom! We get rid of the lot.�
�I'm relying on you, Baz.
Is the place wired up yet?�
�The boys are onto it tonight.�
�I trust they
know what they're doing. Make sure, ok? And check the place is clean when you
leave. Now gentlemen, I have a meeting with our Mr Appleby. Jenna, perhaps you
should stay for this.�
As the others made their way out, Barry continued.
�I've had Harry check out Michael Appleby's background.�
Jenna nodded and
smirked. �In case there's a whole bunch of guys out there who can embarrass you
in public.�
�Don't forget he could do you too!� growled Barry. �Or maybe
that's what you want, eh?� Jenna scowled and went red while Barry continued.
�But that's not the point. If there are any others, I want them on my team or no
one's.� At this he drew his hand rather theatrically across his throat. �More
importantly though, I need some sort of lever to stop him from
misbehaving.�
�And �?�
�� and Harry hasn't turned up any more freaks but
he has found someone who might know something about how the trick is done. An
Indian chick called Vandana Patel, Professor of Psychochemistry no less. She's
an old flame of Appleby's so it sounds promising.�
�What if she doesn't want
to talk?� Jenna caught Barry's expression and grinned mischievously. �I know
that look! Fun and games eh? She must be a looker, then?�
Barry just
shrugged. �Let's see how Appleby reacts when I mention her name. But first we've
a deal to strike.� At that point they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
One of the men ushered in Michael.
�So I've made you a rich man, Michael,
eh?�
� � and I made you a free man, don't forget! Nice place, Barry. Hi,
Jenna. You're looking terrific as always.�
�Thank you, and feel free,� Barry
waved an arm expansively, �any time. Have you looked in on the show?�
�Yeh!
You've got some classy girls.� Michael looked round the room. �But this I like!�
An eclectic collection of paintings, old and modern, hung around the walls.
Michael walked round examining them closely. He stopped at the end in front of a
large portrait. �I never imagined you as a Margaret Thatcher fan.�
�Free
enterprise! Strength! Ruthlessness! After all crime is just the continuation of
business by other means, if I may paraphrase Bismarck.�
�But her views hardly
fit in with your European ambitions!�
�Au contraire! I'm all in favour of
doing business across Europe. But we share a dislike of European government, do
Margaret and I.�
Michael raised an eyebrow then continued. �You said you had
a proposition for me?�
�Indeed! You may have wondered how I knew about those
shares. The truth is I can draw on a huge fund of goodwill from people who owe
me bigtime. I've made a hobby out of other people's indiscretions; a library of
tapes, mostly from their young days. They grow up, become powerful, influential.
I make sure their past doesn't come back to haunt them. Or not,� he smirked,
�it's their choice.�
�So where do I fit in?�
�It's such a hit and miss
affair, you see, waiting for those delicious moments of temptation. With your
skills we can set things up, target the people we want on board or their wives
and children. We can be engineers instead of mere observers.�
�Sounds good
to me. What sort of cash are we talking here?�
7. The Lady of the Night
When Michael Appleby left the office above the Barry
G strip club, he loitered at the bar, watching some of the dancers. It was
tempting to add a little frisson to the show with some surreptitious breast
expansion. And Michael duly succumbed to temptation. The lithe brunette on stage
when he arrived, was obviously going through the motions, probably thinking
about tomorrow's shopping. She looked much better with a couple of 2cm-long
up-turned nipples and a little dash of hot'n horny meant she danced better too.
The next girl up usually climaxed her routine by she using a dildo for a
simulated tit-fuck. The gallant Michael waited till she turned her back to tease
off her bra. Then he added a couple of cup sizes to her already substantial
bosom. She turned round to a great cheer, of course, and for that night only was
star of the show. Sadly, there was a limit to what he could do without questions
being asked and he soon got bored.
Leaving the Barry G, Michael started down
the road, looking out for a taxi. His eye was caught by a rather striking
redheaded woman, who was standing at the corner across the street. She wore
heavy make up and very high stiletto heeled shoes. Her low cut ruffled blouse
revealed a deep and succulent cleavage while her short tight skirt was slit at
one side, high enough that he could see her stocking tops as she sauntered back
and forth. A man approached her. She put two fingers to his cheek then walked
them down the front of his shirt. He could see she was chatting him up,
bargaining. After a few exchanges though, he shook his head and walked away.
Much to Michael's surprise he felt drawn to her. Although he was now a
fairly rich man, it occurred to him that, using his telerotics, he could have
her without having to pay a thing. How ironic it would be if, never having paid
for sex before in his life, he should now get a freebie from a prostitute? How
many men have dreamed of having a hooker hot for them instead of just the money?
He laughed to himself and started off across the road.
It was all too easy.
He apologised that he didn't carry much cash with him. She suggested a reduced
rate romp down a dimly lit alley and took his hand. "We can pretend to be
teenage lovers. Would you like that? Would you like me to be a hot
sixteen-year-old? I could pretend to be younger if you like. Please be gentle;
it's my first time," she pouted as she leant back against a telephone pole with
her hands behind her back and her tits thrust forward.
Thanks to his
telerotics Michael could sense her lust as he worked on it but there was another
emotion half-hidden, dislike, resentment even hatred. Sad. You'd expect it in a
prostitute, he supposed. For a fleeting second he even felt sorry for the woman.
It seemed she was so turned on she'd forgotten to ask for the reduced �15 she
had asked for. She opened her blouse and unhooked her bra. Out plopped two
lovely juicy melons, which with a little help from Michael, soon swelled to
regulation size footballs. Whether she did not notice or was just too excited to
say, Michael could not tell. The redhead just made a lovely moaning sound,
licked her lips and lifted one breast up to tease it with her teeth. Suddenly
Michael was dizzy with desire. She took off his jacket and laid it on the
ground, unbuckled his trousers and pulled out his erection.
"My what an
enormous one! I didn't think they ever got that big. Is that really supposed to
go all the way inside my little pussy? Now don't forget it's my first time.
Please can I lower myself onto your dick in case it hurts?"
He sat down. In a
flash, the woman had her skirt up round her waist and was kneeling over him.
Pulling her panties to one side she lowered herself slowly onto his penis. He
had to admit she was doing a pretty good impression of a virgin pussy. She must
exercise those muscles religiously.
"Do you like my big tits? Would you like
to suck them?" She leant forward till one nipple plopped into his mouth,
simultaneously taking his wrists and stretching them up behind his head as he
lay on the ground.
�Clunk, click!� The handcuffs shut on his wrists, chaining
him to the pole. Before he could react, the man was round at his feet. A couple
of turns of the rope secured them to an old iron ladder. A mugging! You fool!
His senses were assaulted by waves of intense, piercing hatred, stabbing and
slashing inside his head, almost beyond endurance. Before he could speak his
nose was pinched tight and his mouth levered open painfully with some sort of
contraption. The tooth! But how could they know? Michael felt them unscrew his
gold tooth and heard, with a sickening realisation, the crunch of the hammer.
The pain inside his head was gone. It felt like a blanket of sudden numbness had
descended on the world.
�Recognise me?� Carol screamed and, tearing off
the wig, started raining blows around his head, each blow delivered viciously
and timed with a curse. Nicky looked on open mouthed as she started to ride up
and down, her huge breasts clashing together on each downthrust. As she came,
Carol released a stream of invective and spat in Michael's face. Once her boobs
had returned to their natural size and shape, she dismounted and calmly tidied
herself up.
�Feel better now?� asked Nicky hesitantly.
�Not really.� She
shuddered. � I don't expect I'll ever feel better.� She strolled off to where
Vandana was keeping watch at the entrance to the alley.
Once released,
Michael Appleby struggled to his knees, zipped himself up and, ignoring Nicky,
shambled towards the main road. As he passed the two women he looked up.
�Vandana?� She looked away. Nicky noticed that she was weeping silently to
herself. Carol just jeered at Michael and he responded by threatening to finish
her for good the next time he got hold of her. He started to move off down the
road past The Wild Rover public house. A large group of women, ages ranging from
sixteen to sixty, were coming out of a hen party very much the worse for drink.
As they waited for their coach to pick them up, the air was full of ribald
comments about the male stripper and what he had almost done to the bride-to-be.
A rising tide of female lust caught Carol off guard as the women joked and wound
each other up. Michael bumped into one of the younger women and got a mouthful
of abuse for his pains. Carol walked over as quickly as her heels would permit
and started working up the woman's desire. Then she whispered �Hey, girls, look!
It's Ricky Martin.�
Michael did not stand a chance. In seconds he was
submerged beneath a frantic crowd, clawing at his chest, pulling his hair and
ripping his clothes. It took all of Vandana's mental strength to calm enough of
the women down, to sow doubt or fear in the minds of enough others that Nicky
could enter the mob safely. Dragging the semi-conscious Michael Appleby from the
women's grasp to the waiting car was still probably the bravest thing Nicky had
ever done. Carol drove them off in bitter silence.
8. At Twisted Copse.
It was black, absolutely pitch
black, no air and � and paralysed. Death, maybe death, and forever. Forever and
forever, sleep forever � Dozed off, still paralysed.
FOREVER! No, I � can't
accept � that. Sleep paralysis? And she could taste the foul taste of sick,
throat burning. No air! Claustrophobic, don't panic. Shallow breaths, steady
girl, that's all, steady. Better. Sitting, slouching back in a chair, a wooden
chair, wedge forcing hips forward. Under her feet, carpet. Warm. No one else, no
sounds. Fingers, fingers can move, arms bound. And legs, painfully tight, numb.
Clothes, very little, a nightdress maybe. The lacy one she wore last night. Head
can move, left, right, brushing cloth, all around. A hood! Who? Why? Knees tied
wide, wide open, hips pushed forward, can't pull back! Some pervert. Oh shit!
All those guys! It only takes one. Taste sick again.
As it appeared that
nothing useful could be achieved that night, Nicky had agreed to put up Michael
for the night. Michael had seemed confused and demoralised. There seemed little
point in questioning him in that state so Nicky had given him some sleeping
pills and settled him down on the sofa.
Nicky's dream continued to develop to
his immense satisfaction. Although the original feathered and furry forest
frolics had got more and more jumbled, tonight the dream somehow moved on from
the woods to Snow White's cottage. Here Vandana, Nicky and the other dwarves,
gazed adoringly upwards before clambering one by one onto Carol/Snow White's
vast breasts. This was epic North Face of the Eiger stuff, conquering the
overhang with skill and daring, not to mention rope and pitons. The reward for
the conquerors was to be kissed farewell and lowered gently to the ground as off
to work they went. Suddenly the crash of thunder from doom-laden skies; the
villain-in-wolf's-clothing hammering at the door. Don't open it! Don't! Carol!
Carol! Nothing would come out.
CAROL! Nicky wakened in a cold sweat to the
sound of banging from the living room. He stumbled out of bed still half-asleep,
his head swirling with weird notions. Do female Disney-dwarves have beards? Are
there female Disney-dwarfs?
Switching on the living room light, he found
Michael in a furious rage, lashing out wildly at tables and chairs in a way that
should have been causing him considerable pain. Nicky tried to restrain him. He
caused no trouble, just looked embarrassed in a shifty sort of way and then
broke down in tears, sobbing about what a fool he had been. Over breakfast, he
had quietened down and he even thanked Nicky for rescuing him. When Nicky
started to question him about his relationship with Barry Gallagher though, he
would say nothing of consequence. He did at one point express surprise that
Vandana had helped him but clamed up when Nicky tried to steer the conversation
towards their relationship. His only further contribution was to ask Nicky to
loan him some clothes to replace his torn ones.
Around eleven the two men
picked up Carol, who was still maintaining an embittered silence, and drove
across London to Vandana's flat where it had been agreed they should meet to
consider their next steps. As they turned down her street, her door burst open.
Two men moved quickly down the steps carrying a limp, hooded body which they
slung into the back of a van.
"That's Vandana," groaned Nicky. �Oh fuck!
She's been kidnapped.�
�I recognise those two," said Michael. "Look's like
Barry didn't trust me to take care of her, after all.�
�What the hell do you
mean, 'take care of her'?� demanded Nicky.
The men jumped into the van, which
moved off with an unnecessarily noisy display of burning rubber. �Never mind
that now,� broke in Carol, suddenly coming to life. �Follow them, but make sure
you're not seen. You've had surveillance training? Good, now just do as I say.
Any ideas where they're going?�
"They wouldn't take her to the Club, I'm
sure. It's too public," said Michael.
After five minutes, the van turned down
a narrow lane between the last house in a terrace and a cash and carry
warehouse. Nicky drew up past the lane and Carol ran back to sneak a look. She
returned quickly. The two men had transferred Vandana, still lifeless, to a blue
estate car. If they stepped on it, they could pick up the pursuit at the far end
of the lane. They tailed the car for a further fifteen minutes through heavy
traffic before it turned onto the North Circular. It was a dark, wet Autumn day
and the heavy spray from lorries made it difficult to spot their quarry. On a
couple of occasions, they came right alongside at traffic lights and spent a
nervous few minutes looking everywhere else till the lights changed.
During
these times Michael made no attempt to alert the driver of the blue estate and,
so far, was showing every sign of co-operating. He was in fact still mulling
over the possibility that if he helped her, Vandana might be persuaded to
provide him with a new VN booster. Living without it was something he would not
contemplate. He had quickly guessed that Barry's motive in kidnapping Vandana
was somehow to use her against him. He knew that she would not easily co-operate
but Barry was notoriously ruthless at finding the weak spots of his victims.
Even if she held out, it was quite likely that she would reveal that he had lost
his telerotic powers. His first priority was to get to her as quickly as
possible to forestall this.
"I think I know where they're heading," announced
Carol. During the surveillance op leading to Gallagher's arrest, her team had
spent many a weary day and night staking out Twisted Copse, a secluded mansion,
which was known only to Barry's closest associates. Carol told Nicky to drop
back to make sure they weren't spotted, moving closer only when they approached
the turn-off she had predicted. Her guess turned out to be a good one and some
40 minutes later they drew up within sight of the mansion. Through binoculars,
Carol was able to see the still limp body being manhandled through the main
entrance.
"What now? Normally I'd say call for backup but Vandana made me
promise I wouldn't do anything to risk her secret becoming public. I can
understand why."
�Yeh, same here.�
� She was always very scared of being
branded a freak,� said Michael.
The other two glared at him. �It's not just
herself she's thinking of!� said Carol angrily. Michael shrugged and shut
up.
�Well,� said Nicky, after a tense pause, � we can't do anything till we
know what we're dealing with. Let's keep an eye on the place for now. We'll make
a move when it starts to get dark.�
In the dark, Vandana strained
desperately for sounds. Maybe there were voices and movements from above. After
what seemed like hours, she stiffened at the unmistakable sound of a door
opening. She braced herself then decided to feign sleep as footsteps crossed the
room and passed her. Something heavy was thumped down on a table. There was a
lot of moving, rattling, clanking and rustling. Then came the sound of a plug
being put in a socket and another plug, then switches. Something electrical was
warming up. Another entered, another man. How did she know that? It must have
been the footsteps. She heard �Is she?� quietly. �I don't think so.� Then after
a pause, �Do you know how?� �Sure, no problem.�
The first man left, followed
after an eternity by the second.
If only they had used a blindfold. The hood
virtually crippled Vandana's enhanced VN sense. But outside she could hear the
odd snatch of conversation. Something was being delivered � to the Albanian
crackheads? � instructions � an exchange ... make sure they're inside � then
blow it � Semtex � everything's in place � then phone � IRA codeword �
.
A woman entered. More sounds of unwrapping, plugs, cables.
Walking towards her. Fastening something round her waist, a belt? a strap passed
between her legs. She jumped. My clit! Cold and wet.
�So you are awake, my
dear! Good!�
�What do you want? Why have you brought me here?�
�All in
good time. By the way, you're supposed to say, 'You'll never get away with
this!' No? How disappointing! But never mind,� she laughed, �you're right! We
always do get away with it. Now let me comfort you.� The woman started to
massage her pussy lips expertly with the lubricant. She kept going until she had
extracted a couple of gasps and grunts from her victim before pushing a dildo
easily into Vandana's pussy. With a couple of snaps, the press-studs held the
dildo firmly in place.
�I'll see you shortly. Enjoy!�
Vandana gulped as
the vibrator started to buzz gently within her. The door opened and the woman
left. Alone once more, with only a vibrator for company.
Vandana was
temporarily blinded as the hood came off. Her vomero-nasal senses were equally
overwhelmed. Her sight recovered first. Ahead of her was a TV screen. No, it was
a computer screen and a cable from it led directly between her legs. Also in the
room were two people. The man, she recognised as Barry Gallagher. She was
starting to sense a malevolent glee, which scared her.
�I see you recognise
me, Professor Patel,� said Gallagher. �With so eminent a guest, I'd normally
shake hands.� He gave a deep chuckle. � � but as you see that's not possible.
Let me introduce my partner, Jenna Ramone.� Vandana now recognised the
well-known publicist. �I trust you're feeling comfortable?� Barry raised a
finger and Jenna turned a knob. The vibrator inside Vandana's vagina started to
throb. She gasped and shuddered in spite of herself.
�Now keep your eyes
peeled. I'm sure you'll be very interested in our little
entertainment.�
Vandana opened her eyes and gasped in horror. The live
picture on the screen was of a typical semi-detached house in a well-kept street
in a Manchester suburb. Not just any house though; the house was her parent's
and the schoolgirl who had just emerged to walk their dog, Dana, was her niece
Pravina. Vandana watched as the little terrier ran round the garden exploring
every corner. Jenna flicked a switch and the vibrator started to twist and
rotate inside her. Another attachment started to stimulate her clitoris till she
knew she was on the brink of orgasm. She started to come. Dana finished lifting
her leg against a bush and ran back to get her lead put on. Vandana climaxed
violently and the bush disappeared with a huge bang, showering the garden with
debris.
�Pity! You just missed the wretched little beast,� smirked Jenna,
turning the vibrator down. �Better luck next time you come!�
�Just a little
fun, Professor,� said Barry Gallagher. �I'm sure you'll co-operate now so next
time the explosion won't be necessary. More's the shame. Just remember, if
anything should happen to that family of yours, you would always live with the
guilt. You'll witness the dismemberment and always wonder if you could have held
back your orgasm. That's the trigger you see. Don't worry though,� he put on a
joke German accent and leered at her, �Ve haf vays uf making yaw cum!�
�What
do you want?� said Vandana shakily, as she gazed at the pandemonium in her
parents' garden.
�I think you know a great deal about my colleague, Mr
Michael Appleby. I want what he's got ��
Barry was interrupted by a knock at
the door. �What is it, Baz?� he snapped. I made it clear I was not to be
interrupted.� Some whisperings followed between the three. Vandana made out
little more than snatches.
�Well, talk of the devil ��
� � Donny and
'Fly' have him. ��
�� how, in hell's name?�
� � because, you can handle
him ��
Eventually Jenna went off with Baz to sort who or whatever it was that
needed sorting, leaving Vandana to face Barry alone.
�I'm worried we made
a mistake letting Michael go in on his own,� said Carol. �I don't trust him.
What if he decides he's better off with Vandana dead? With Barry Gallagher's
money behind him, he might be able to make another VN Booster. He would never
let himself be taken by surprise again.�
The afternoon had dragged slowly by
for the would-be rescue party. The clouds got heavier and soon the rain was
battering off the roof of the car. Spotting movements around the house was often
an impossibility. Around two thirty a car had arrived. Barry and Jenna had gone
in with a couple of men carrying boxes. After another half-hour, Michael had
started to get restless. He argued quite convincingly that Vandana's predicament
was his fault and he ought to be given a chance to redeem himself. As far as
Carol could judge his feelings seemed genuine but she was painfully aware of how
inexperienced she was at using her new sensory powers.
�We should go in,�
said Nicky. �We might be able to get in unseen in this downpour.�
�The rear
of the house backs onto a canal towpath. When we had this place under
surveillance, we figured that if it came to it, the most promising access would
be to climb onto the roof at the rear and enter through a skylight. How's your
head for heights?�
"Ok, I suppose, but what if we're spotted. There's bound
to be guards and we'll be sitting targets.�
�Of course, but they'll be at the
rear entrance. I'll take care of them. You go for the roof.�
�Take care of
them? Huh! They'll be armed to the teeth whereas you�� Nicky shrugged.
��
will have a little surprise for them!� said Carol smiling grimly.
The rain
eased off a little as they locked the car and circled round heading for the
canal towpath. Moments later a dozen-strong group of men appeared at the turning
into the short avenue and started to work their way commando-style towards the
front of the mansion.
As Nicky made his way through the bushes heading
for the corner of the house, Carol stepped out onto the path and approached the
steps up to the rear entrance. A sudden movement brought her senses to full
alert. She jumped back as a black cat shot out of the shadows and fled squealing
behind a shed. Three men in joggers emerged from the doorway, one circling
quickly round to cut off her escape. �What have we got here then?� came a growl.
He drew out a handgun with silencer; the other two produced
flick-knives.
Carol moved cat-like a few metres into the light from a ground
floor window and, with her back to the shed, faced her attackers. �See something
you like boys?� She ran her hands over her breasts which, perhaps due to some
trick of the light, suddenly appeared to swell into prominence. The men
hesitated, momentarily transfixed by the large erect nipples, which were now
protruding through the tight stretch top she wore. �Looks like we can have some
fun with this one,� laughed the first man. �Yeah baby! Show us what you've got,�
said another, awkwardly adjusting his erect dick.
�Come on, then boys. What
are you waiting for?� said the Carol. As the three moved forward eagerly, she
ran her hands down over her hips, thrust out her tits and licked her lips
suggestively. The three men flushed, gasped then groaned in unison as they
looked down at their trousers. Three jaws dropped simultaneously then snapped
painfully shut as the woman drove the outside of her foot upward through their
chins, spinning quickly to take each in turn before any could react. The men lay
out cold on the floor with wet stains spreading over their trousers from their
still visible erections.
�Aw! What's wrong guys? Got a headache?� breathed
Carol, with a sardonic smile, then laughed at herself for doing the James Bond
impression. She gathered up the weapons and quietly entering the door, found
herself in an empty kitchen. Three half-drunk mugs of coffee sat on the table. A
quick search revealed that the basement floor was otherwise empty. As Carol
started up the stairs, she heard two shots and a scream from the front of the
house. Then all hell broke loose.
Meanwhile Nicky had made his way with
some difficulty to the roof of Twisted Copse. The first step onto the roof of an
outhouse was easy enough. From there on he had to shin up a wet drainpipe which
was several feet to the right of the outhouse. Reaching it meant leaning out and
swinging over, hoping he could get his feet onto one of the brackets and a
purchase on the wet plastic. He had no way of checking the safety of the pipe
other than to commit himself absolutely to the climb. Fortunately the pipe
itself was relatively new and firmly pinned to the wall. As he made his way
steadily up, he noticed that the upper windows were barred. These were not the
sort of heavy grids of black iron bars, familiar from films and TV costume
dramas. Instead they had been constructed from a mesh of fine plastic covered
rods so that they would not be visible except from close range.
The final
hurdle, reaching onto the roof, was the hardest as the gutter was too flimsy to
take Nicky's weight. Fortunately, the old house had a stone parapet like fake
battlements over which he could try to hook a leg. His first attempt almost led
to disaster as some crumbling cement gave way. Most of the dislodged rubble
ended up in the gutter but he barely managed to cling on as one large stone
bounced over and gashed his forehead. On the second attempt he stretched further
and found a secure purchase for his right foot. As Nicky hauled himself up, the
buckle of his belt jammed against the edge of the gutter, almost toppling him to
the ground. For a second he was intensely aware of the fifty-foot drop to the
paving below. Then it sprang free and he was safe. He lay exhausted for a few
minutes, staring down at the ground below, wondering what insane impulse had got
him here and how he was going to get back down.
He found the skylight easily
and, after checking that no one was below, forced it carefully open with a small
crowbar he had brought from the car. Looking down into the empty hallway,
Nicky's heart sank. The skylight was directly over the stair well and the drop
would certainly break one or both ankles. The only chance was to swing forward
in an arc big enough to reach the top of the stairs, a full bodylength to the
right. To complicate matters he could hear occasional bursts of conversation in
a language he did not recognise. The hall was empty but it seemed that one or
more rooms were occupied.
On the other hand, returning to the ground looked
at least as difficult and meant facing Carol who would doubtless think him a
total wimp. �Oh, well. If Tarzan can do it � ,� he thought. Fortunately the
frame of the skylight allowed a secure if painful grip so, by swinging back and
forward, Nicky was able to build up enough speed to carry him the five or six
feet to the landing. His heart leapt into his mouth as he wobbled precariously
on the top step before grabbing the rail and regaining his poise.
Nicky
wiped some blood off his hands and looked round. His first move was to examine
the door at the foot of the stairs. This turned out to be solidly secured from
the outside by a lock and possibly two bolts. Whoever lived on this top floor
was not free to leave.
He turned to climb the stairs with a sudden start.
Two silent faces stared at him from the landing. The two young girls, who were
dressed in very brief maid's uniforms, whispered to each other in a strange
tongue. As Nicky approached they curtsied, smiled delicately and said by way of
greeting "Please would you fuck my brains out" and "I would really love you to
bugger me." As Nicky gaped at them, they looked at each other and said a few
incomprehensible words and tried again. With studied politeness, they each
enquired in a very pukka accent whether, if it was not too much trouble, they
might have a good seeing to. Nicky almost burst out laughing. The girls looked
quite confused and upset especially when Nicky asked slowly and deliberately
what they were doing locked up in the house. They were quickly joined by another
dozen girls, equally scantily clad and, at least when they tried to speak
English, equally dirty talking. Eventually Nicky gave up and turned to sign
language. They had just got as far as introductions, when the shots rang out.
At the sound of the shots, Jenna rushed into the room to find Barry,
wearing only underpants and a tee shirt, confronting Vandana whose pussy was now
exposed and vacant. As he turned, Jenna's first sight was the huge bulge in his
pants. Her face turned to thunder. Barry looked across at Vandana, open-mouthed.
�You?�
Jenna strode across the room and slapped his face hard. �You stupid
shit! And what the hell��
Baz ran in the door shouting, �It's the Albanians,
half a dozen, maybe more. They've gunned down Fly and O'Donnell �� his voice was
drowned by more gunfire and an answering burst from an automatic.
�Get me a
gun!� shouted Barry.
Jenna grabbed him by the arm. �We should get away. We
agreed you shouldn't be around when there's aggro. Leave Baz in charge. You pay
him well enough for God's sake.�
�Proper little general, eh?� taunted
Vandana. She could sense that his emotions were on a cusp. All reason told him
that Jenna was right. He could not afford to be caught in the middle of a
gun-battle. But she could sense that he was teetering on the edge of an
emotional abyss full of bitterness, fear of humiliation and dark, dark anger.
Her senses reeled under the raw power of his emotion. One of the men rushed in
carrying two guns. He thrust one into Barry's hand. Jenna screamed above more
gunfire �NOW! We - get - out - NOW!�
�Better do as the little woman says! Run
along now, Barry dear!� said Vandana sarcastically. Barry went purple. That was
risky, foolishly risky, Vandana thought. If he flipped now, he could easily kill
her. More gunfire from the front of the house, then two explosions followed by a
spine-chilling scream and the piercing sound of the smoke alarms. As Barry
lifted his gun and turned towards the door, Vandana sensed him toppling and,
briefly blocking his rational brain pathways, she simply made sure. Screaming
obscenities into the abyss of his own twisted mind, he ran out into the smoke
filled corridor.
Carol had remained unseen on the stairway through all
this, waiting for an opportunity. A man had staggered out of a front room into
the corridor, his hair and clothes ablaze, screaming in agony. His body still
lay there, flames flickering on his charred skin, the petrol fumes mingling with
the foul stench of burning flesh. Thick smoke from the fire was starting to fill
the rear of the house so time was running out. A man she recognised as Barry
Gallagher came running down the corridor firing a gun wildly. She moved to the
top step, crouching low. Suddenly she was bowled over by a man and a woman
running down the stairs. She lay dazed at the foot of the stairs and looked
round to see the couple looking furtively out of the back door. She recognised
the woman, Jenna Ramone. And the man was Michael Appleby.
�It's all clear,�
said Michael, then glancing round recognised Carol. She could sense his fear and
his shame. For a moment all she could think of was revenge, to inflict upon him
as much humiliation and pain as she had suffered and then more. But there were
other priorities. �Vandana?� she asked. He pointed wordlessly up and then they
were gone. Carol soaked some dishtowels in water and crawled up the stairs into
the corridor keeping as low as possible. The gunfire reached a crescendo then
stopped abruptly but the fire had by now spread through the entire front of the
mansion. There was a sudden noise of wood splintering and a door collapsed
across the corridor, catching Carol across the thigh and pinning her to the
floor.
Vandana was alone and facing up to certain death. The heat was now
uncomfortable and smoke was starting to fill the room. The sound of the raging
fire and the collapse of parts of the mansion assaulted her ears. More gunfire!
No sound of the fire brigade then. And they could do nothing anyway in a gun
battle. She was scared, no point in pretending otherwise. Nor was it a good time
to die. Michael was still on the loose and knew too much. She wished she had had
time to complete Carol's training. No doubt Michael, or if not him others, would
eventually put the pieces of the jigsaw together and telerotics would have its
second birth. How much mayhem would Michael cause? She realised with a stab of
regret that she would not be around to guide her unpredictable offspring to
maturity.
At least, she reflected with some satisfaction, her family would be
safe. She had played a dangerous game with Barry Gallagher. She had first
inflamed his lust, then rendered him impotent as he moved in to rape her. She
allowed herself a quiet chuckle as she remembered the look on his face. The gun
shots and Jenna's entrance could not have been more timely. Her reaction to his
instantly renewed erection had played right into Vandana's hands. Yes, she had
played a dangerous game and they had both lost. But at least her family was
safe.
The heat was becoming intense. Pungent smoke was swirling in, choking
her now. Lying on the floor would be better. If she could just rock the chair
over, gain some time. Feet bound, can't push hard enough, keep
trying!
Carol tried to drag her leg from under the door without success.
Out into the smoke-filled hallway stumbled a man wielding the crowbar and
followed, coughing and spluttering, by a dozen or so barely decent young women.
�Nicky! Downstairs!� she shouted to him, pointing to the stairs down to the rear
entrance. Signing, he got the girls to crouch low and link arms down the
stairway. He quickly returned, wet cloth over his nose and mouth, to pull the
shattered door off Carol.
Visibility was now zero and they had no idea where
Vandana was. Nicky tried to lead her out to safety. Yet deep down Carol felt she
could not give up. Somehow she could sense Vandana's distress. It was so strong
it was almost painful. Of course! The vomero-nasal boosters! In spite of the
smoke and heat, she managed to pick up the trace and follow it along the
corridor. As they crawled into the room, Vandana lay coughing and spluttering on
the floor. All three of them were rapidly being overcome by smoke and untying
the knots proved impossible.
�Forget it!� shouted Nicky. Carol was horror
struck, then realised he was trying to drag the chair, with Vandana still tied
to it, to the door. Once in the corridor they had to pull the broken door out of
the way to get past, then slide the chair, almost out of control, down the
stairs. At the back door finally, Carol collapsed, rolled over and vomited on
the grass.
9. Stranger than
Fiction
Nicky paced the room,
restlessly switching TV channels. The gangland battle that had put paid to Barry
Gallagher was of course headline news. He had charged out of the blazing
building, wearing only tee shirt and pants and firing a semi-automatic at
anything that moved. Unnerved by this kamikaze tactic, some of the Albanians
panicked and got shot in the back. The rest though made short work of him and
there followed a half-hearted shootout, which ended with police sirens
approaching. Haxhi Berisha and the remains of the Albanian gang melted into the
night. One camera crew had managed to get a shot of a stray dog lifting its leg
over Gallagher's partially naked body, as it lay riddled with bullets in a muddy
puddle. Nicky smiled grimly.
It seemed to be an unusually violent evening in
London for the second item on the BBC News was a huge explosion in a deserted
warehouse. There had been several deaths, so far none identified. A newspaper
had received a phone call from the Real IRA claiming responsibility but since
the caller was using an old Provo code word the police spokesman expressed some
doubt about whether this was genuine. There was better news from Manchester
where several explosive devices had been found outside a suburban house after
one had exploded. No one had been harmed and the other devices had been disarmed
without mishap.
The next day Nicky knew he would have to write a report. If
he kept his promise to Vandana, it would have to be a work of fiction. Otherwise
she would have his bollocks for breakfast. Literally, perhaps! Nicky chuckled
and wondered if she might just be capable of it. On the other hand the truth was
a much better tale than he could possibly invent. It deserved to be written.
Perhaps he could write it up as a story? And publish on the Internet. Changing
the names of course, 'to protect the innocent'. He chuckled to himself; truth as
fiction and fiction as truth.
Nicky went into the kitchen, fidgeted around
in the half-empty fridge before returning empty-handed to the lounge. Unable to
settle down to anything, Nicky got out his phone book. Carol? Vandana? Vandana?
Carol? Toss a coin? Best out of three?
"Hi, Vandana. You cleaned up and
everything? Look, if you've nothing on tonight do you fancy coming round here
for the evening? I'll get some food in. Eight o'clock? That's great; see you
then. Oh," he laughed, " and promise you'll be gentle with me!"
Vandana
locked her car and looked for the number of Nicky's flat. There was a tap on her
shoulder.
"I didn't expect to find you here!" said Carol, making no attempt
to hide her annoyance.
"Likewise!" Vandana shrugged her shoulders. "Look,
Nicky invited me over for eight. He just said he'd be getting some food in. He
didn't mention anyone else."
"Same here," said Carol, puzzled.
Vandana
looked bemused then an almost evil smile spread across her face. " � and did he
ask you to be gentle with him?"
Carol nodded as realisation dawned. "I don't
believe it!"
Vandana raised an eyebrow. "There's only one way to find out.
You game?"
Carol grinned and turned to face Vandana. They closed their eyes
and joined hands. Each allowed the other access to their private sanctuary,
stimulating and exciting, trusting implicitly. Steadily their breasts swelled in
tandem; nipples signalled their lust. It passed through Carol's mind that maybe
they could read each other's thoughts after all. She smiled and pressed the
doorbell firmly.